


10 for $35

by Anonymous



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Lingerie, M/M, stupidity as a plot device, the team shares 1 braincell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:01:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23248912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Patience is a virtue, but TK has never been virtuous. Why start now?
Relationships: Travis Konecny/Nolan Patrick
Comments: 8
Kudos: 371
Collections: Anonymous





	10 for $35

**Author's Note:**

> oops. no beta so apologies for any typos

It starts as a joke. Nolan would really like to clarify that; it’s a joke. 

If you look at the chain of command, it should be Sanny’s fault. It all started with him, and as far as Nolan is concerned, that leaves him culpable. 

It starts in December: Sanny brings the wrong gift to a white elephant. Nolan’s been sitting on a good gift for a while, some six pack of a local IPA with a wicked label of a mermaid and some kind of steampunk fisherman. So, naturally, Kevin goes and ruins it. He steals Nolan’s gift, even though it’s all going to the same place at the end, and tosses a shoebox sized rectangle at his chest. 

The box is light and wrapped neatly in silky red paper, lined neatly with holly branches. Sanny, obviously, did not wrap it. The guys all teased him when he came in. 

The game ends before Nolan opens the box. He doesn’t know if the game is being played correctly, but the competitive nature of Kevin and TK’s bickering mixed with Ivan’s heavy hand in making the egg nog has thrown the rules out the window. Nolan doesn’t mind. The gifts have an even spread of quality, mostly correlated to who has a girlfriend that most likely purchased said gift. Kevin brought a few pairs of socks wrapped in tissue paper left over from a cousin’s baby shower a few months back. Nolan isn’t confident they aren’t a used pair of socks either. 

But Claude brought a nice bottle of whiskey, and Ivan’s gift was basketball tickets, which can cancel out how Travis brought a Wawa gift card (which he somehow ended up taking home himself) and Scott and Raff brought gifts targeting each other. Nolan isn’t, like, the most festive person. He isn’t up to Kevin’s level, who played the Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack and loudly — and horribly off tune — sang along as he made Nolan hang up a Tom Brady ornament on their real, and very soon after neglected Christmas tree. But Nolan’s not the grinch or Hans Gruber or whatever. He likes the team Christmas party and if it makes Travis and Kevin happy, he’ll wear the gaudy matching sweaters TK bought them. 

In the Uber home, Kevin stops yammering long enough to prod Nolan in the side and shove his phone in his face. It’s the group chat, which Nolan can pull up on his own phone without being blinded by Kevin, thank you very much. 

“Dude,” Kev says again for emphasis. “Look at what Sanny said.”

He had to forcibly pull Kevin’s phone back so it isn’t two inches from his face, and rolls his eyes before reading. There’s some gibberish from Carter — expected — and poor chirping from TK — even less shocking— before he finds what Kevin must be talking about. 

**_Sanny:)))_ ** _ SOS  _ _ 🚨🚨🚨 _

**_Sanny:)))_ ** _ Gf is mad because SOMEONE miiiiiight have switched gifts for our parties tonite. Accidentally _

**_Sanny:)))_ ** _ nd she brought a framed and illicit photo of gritty to her girls party 😳😳😳 _

“Dude,” Kevin says, snorting this time. 

“Jesus Christ, he has two braincells.”

Nolan keeps scrolling because he’s not not-interested. There’s a lot of replies coming from Raff and Jake that are just emojis, and Joel asking to see said photo, but:

**_Teeks_** _so whatd u bring_

Nolan tears open the box on his lap.

“Jesus Christ.”

——-

Kevin is still wiping a tear away when they stumble through the door. Nolan can’t even be that annoyed, because Kevin is drunk and happy and it’s infectious, as much as Nolan wishes it wasn’t. He’s not even that annoyed that his Uber rating has definitely taken a nosedive since he started spending all his time with Kevin and TK. It’s Stockholm syndrome, probably. 

“Aww, don’t be such a grinch, Patty. I’m sure Teeks will loooove your gift.”

Nolan hates him. He really, truly and deeply might hate Kevin Hayes. 

He’s also glad for the first time that Travis isn’t here right now, that he’s on a flight home at the ass crack of dawn and shrugged off Nolan’s invitation to stay the night. 

It’s still new, this thing between them. Travis is his boyfriend, he can say that now. But Nolan’s chest still feels cut open and his throat raw thinking about Travis, about all the time they spent not saying what should have been said, ignoring the looks and touches and the feelings. It’s a lot to process; Travis is a lot to process. 

He shoves the box into his closet and doesn’t think about it. 

——-

In March, Kev declares that it’s time for spring cleaning. Those are his exact words when he bangs down Nolan’s door at 9 am on a Saturday armed with a Swiffer in one hand and Windex in the other. Nolan isn’t a morning person, but he’d follow Kevin and his dopey, wide eyed smile to the ends of the earth. This is how he ends up mopping his bathroom floor and organizing his closet, all chores he normally shrugs off. 

The smell of Clorox has probably permanently stuck in his head by the time he tackles the closet. There’s mismatched hangars and no real organization system and a camo jacket that is definitely not his filling up the space. Nolan works methodically, front to back. He pulls the wrinkled shirts off the hangars to be dry cleaned, lines his sneakers up, and checks all his coat pockets for the loose change TK always passes his way. 

The whole ordeal is nearly over when Nolan goes to fix the few items cluttering up the top shelf. He wants to be done, he can smell Kevin cooking Taylor Ham in the kitchen and his stomach stubbornly reminds himself of more important things, but —

The box is still there, obviously. It’s crimson wrapping paper long abandoned, but Nolan still recognizes it. Can feel his face flush as he spots it. 

Nolan should probably address it. 

——-

So, Sanny accidentally brought his girlfriend’s gift to the party. Which was a pair of Victoria’s Secret underwear. Because her work party was a quasi bachelorette party (Nolan doesn’t pretend to understand). And Nolan ended up, unknowingly, taking it home. And he might have kept it. Because —

Because. 

He can’t come up with a good enough excuse. Whatever, it’s not like TK ever thought he was a good liar. 

——

The pair in the box doesn’t fit, unsurprisingly. That alone is a good enough reason for Nolan to abandon the idea. 

He doesn’t do that; he goes online and sorts through the dozen styles and cuts and colors. Orders himself a new pair. 

——

Travis spends a good ten minutes of his birthday dinner explaining the plot of Prison Break to Nolan, which is cool. Travis is interested in it, clearly. And Nolan wants to be supportive. But the wine is rich and good, and the tan cut of skin peeking out from where Travis’s shirt is unbuttoned at the neck is more than distracting. 

They’re at a nice restaurant. Travis wants to be mature. He ordered  _ wine _ , after all. TK wasn’t even deterred when their server asked Nolan for his ID. Point is, Travis wants this to be a nice meal, Prison Break rant aside, but Nolan is — he’s distracted, okay? 

The firm hand Travis places on the small of his back as he herds Nolan back to his car is hot and searing in Nolan’s head. When Travis tangles their fingers together over the gear shift, Nolan exhales. He lets his legs fall open and a button on his shirt loosen, let’s Travis look him up and down. 

It’s only March, but the air feels humid in the car. Nolan’s tongue feels heavy as his throat works to swallow down his thoughts. 

He even lets Travis play country on the way home. Doesn’t even mind that someone with a name like Dierks Bentley is crooning over the speakers as Travis’s hand moves higher on his thigh at every red light. He lets Travis ramble about whatever he wants. His neighbor’s new dog. Team gossip. March Madness, like Travis knows shit about the NCAA. 

“Not gonna drive me home?” Nolan asks, just to be a tease, when Travis pulls into the parking garage of their old building. 

Travis snaps his seatbelt unlocked, reaches over Nolan’s body to manually unlock the passenger door. “Are you coming upstairs, or what?” 

Travis smells good, like the cologne Nolan panic bought him for Valentine’s Day. He lingers in Nolan’s space and softens his face, smooths over the chain around Nolan’s neck. 

“Dirty pool,” Nolan tells him, swallowing thickly. TK’s smile back is bright and intoxicating. 

Travis keeps his hands to himself in the elevator, watching Nolan with dark eyes across the cramped space and recessed lighting. It shouldn’t be so easy for Travis to undo him like this, Nolan thinks helplessly. The doors slide open easily and they turn wordlessly down the hall to TK’s door. They barely touch, still, but Nolan crowds on close as Travis fumbles with his keys. He lets the heat of their bodies dance between them, the anticipation grow. 

Patience is a virtue, but TK has never been virtuous. Why start now?

The hand that circles Nolan’s wrist is insistent and pulling towards the kitchen. Among the corny platitudes on his walls, there are balloons and a crooked banner over the living room TV that reads  _ BIRTHDAY BITCH! _

“Do you want cake?” Nolan levels his voice to be falsely pleasant. His back is to TK as he reaches towards the fridge, but he can feel the weight of TK’s gaze. He flushes. 

“I want you,” Travis says easily. 

And — “Yeah, okay. C’mon,” is all Nolan can answer after the tortuous wait of dinner and the slow crawl of evening traffic. 

Travis walks them the few feet to his bedroom, eyes hot and dark on Nolan as they move. “Did you get me a birthday present?” He cocks an eyebrow at Nolan when they cross the threshold, eyes dark and imploring. 

“Uh huh.”

“Can I have it?”

Nolan swallows. “You can have whatever you want.” It’s more honest, closer to the truth than he meant it to be. 

Travis says  _ fuck _ quickly under his breath and is on him in a second, mouth running between kisses. “Looked so good,” he moved to Nolan’s neck in wet, open kisses. “All night. So  _ distracting _ .” 

“Trav,” he says once, earning a bite at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Nolan’s sure his whole body is flushed pink. “Travis,” he tries again. “Bed, c’mon.” 

They fall easily together, even after all this time it still amazes Nolan. He likes the way Travis spreads him out, the way his hips seems to spot perfectly onto Nolan’s lap. It’s intense, this deep down feeling he gets when they’re together. He’s sappy about it, overwhelmingly so, but the short movements of Travis’s body above him short circuits his brain. He can feel where TK’s thigh muscles are stretching, the pull of his abdomen. It’s pulling the fabric of the panties over him again and again in a way that makes him sweat, makes him swear and want to beg. 

Travis talking a lot in bed is not surprising. It’s the most obvious thing in the world. And god help him, Nolan likes it. He likes the scraping tone of his voice when he gets close, he likes the breathless little comments that slip out, the worshipful praise when Nolan bears down on him. Travis is quite now, as he works the button and zipper of Nolan’s dress pants down. 

An abortive little noise is caught in his throat, dies there as he bullies Nolan into lifting his hips to slide his pants down the spread of his thighs. 

Nolan wants to throw his head back, cover his eyes with his arm, but — TK is looking at him with an expression akin to wonder. 

“Pats,” he breathes out, voice caught between a groan and a whisper. 

Nolan can imagine what he looks like, spread under Travis with his legs spread slightly. His shirt long forgotten and his chest flushed so red. There’s probably the beginnings of a mark where TK attacked his neck earlier, pink and fresh against his pale skin. 

And then black lace. Travis is stripping his slacks off him and leaning back to watch the rise and fall of Nolan’s chest, the contrast of colors. His skin, pale white and pink. The panties, black lace dark and wet where his dick is straining to stay in. 

Travis runs his fingers across his thighs, makes a hurt noise as his fingers slide across his hip, hot and searching as they slide between skin and lace. TK lets his head fall on Nolan’s shoulder. He breathes in one beat, out another. Nolan would speak, but his throat feels thick and his tongue heavy. He’s wildly turned on and he wants Travis to  _ move _ , to do something,  _ anything _ . 

“Trav.”

“Jesus fuck, Pats.”

He asks, “You like them?” Though it feels pointless with the way Trav’s fingers are tracing the outline of his dick through the panties, the way he follows it with the soft press of his mouth where smooth skin meets soft lace. 

“Anything you want,” Nolan heard himself say, hands sliding down to tangle in the ends of TK’s hair. “Just touch me, Trav. Please.”

He doesn’t care how wanton his time is, he needs more than the loose pressure of Travis’s fingers and mouth skimming along the insides of his thighs. He needs pressure, heat. He needs Travis. 

“Please,” he repeats. Travis swears and Nolan’s legs fall open at their own accord. He lets Travis settle between them and pull the panties off, kiss the expanse of skin now left uncovered. 

He doesn’t know when they switched places, but Travis’s mouth is busy and Nola can’t stop himself still. “C’mon, Trav, fuck me.” He gets a nip on the crease of his hip for that one. “Been thinking about it all night.” Travis raises a pointed eyebrow. 

“Wanted to drop to my knees at dinner. See what you would say.” Nolan throws his head back, lost in the feeling of Travis’s fingers finally slick and going where he wants them to. 

At the first press inside, Nolan gasps and lets his hips push back, searching.

“Jesus,” Travis swears. “You’re so-” he doesn’t finish the thought, captures Nolan’s mouth with his own instead and presses in further. 

Nolan loses himself in the slide of Travis inside him, his mouth soft and pliable against his own. He doesn’t want to drag it out any longer. He wants Travis to take what’s his, doesn’t care about the implications of that thought. 

When Travis finally slides in, he remembers how to speak. He whispers in Nolan’s ear, unashamed as always. It’s just babbles, sweet nothings about how Nolan looks —utterly fucked— how he feels —tight, hot, so good, just for me— and how much TK loves him like this. Nolan can’t speak anymore, letting harsh pants out with every thrust instead. 

Travis doesn’t have to say it, but when he speeds up his hips and grinds in impossibly deeper and right where Nolan wants him to, Nolan understands what he’s not saying.  _ Come for me _ , Travis means. And Nolan does, mouth falling lax and hips itching up and closer. 

“C’mon,” Nolan urges, clenching down around Travis and letting him use him. Travis’s face is stupid and his face throaty when he comes, as Nolan loves him impossibly so. 

“Holy fuck, Nol,” Travis says after, sated and sleepy beside him. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t like them.”

Nolan isn’t surprised when a pink package arrives at his house the next week. Kevin looks on mixed with disgust (“it’s like knowing your kid brother has sex”) and glee for the roasting that lies ahead. There’s a note inside the box. 

_ There was a sale. Dinner Friday @ 7 :) - TK _

Nolan lets Kevin laugh him out of the kitchen. 

  
  



End file.
